


It is the Generals Order

by Annabelle62



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: what might have been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:51:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabelle62/pseuds/Annabelle62
Summary: John Andre spends his last few hours reflecting on events





	It is the Generals Order

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted a few years ago to a Tumbler account I no longer have the password for

The room was exactly ten paces by 8 paces. John had tried to stop counting as he paced the room again. How long would they keep locked up in here without letting him know what was going on?. Not there was much doubt about what would happen there was only one punishment for spying.

Time crept by at a snail's pace with only the sporadic arrival of meals to mark the passage of the hours. There was a small cot and blanket and a rickety table and stool to take up space in his prison cell. The entire inventory had taken John less than a minute leaving him nothing to do but pace. Pace and think.

"Dammit" John's voice sounded loud to him in the oppressive silence that surrounded him.

It had seemed like a perfect plan, there was some risk of course. If you want to get ahead in His Majesty's Army you must either be well connected or take some risks. But, he had thought they were negligible He would have a pass signed by Commander Arnold himself. The plans to the fort would be fiendishly well hidden. Who would think to look for a false heel in an old worn pair of boots? An illiterate sentry bent on robbing an apparently well to do soul traveling alone that's who. John slumped dejectedly onto the stool. Maybe if he stopped pacing he could stop counting. Stop counting the heart beats until his death.

A knock startled him back to his feet, that the person who had knocked waited for him to allow them entry surprised him even more.

John saw his visitor had a what looked to be travelers writing set and papers. Maybe a deal had been struck, a tiny betraying spark of hope was lit in his heart. He knew the young Colonel was one of General Washington's aides but was not sure which one. It certainly wasn't the Frenchman but it could be any of the others.

"Please Major sit down." The younger Colonel looked decidedly uneasy about what he was going to say. "All efforts to get General Cornwallis to agree to trade you for the traitor Arnold have been exhausted. It is the Generals order that you be hanged at first light tomorrow."

That tiny spark of hope hurt more in dying than being originally captured had. John knew his fate now, hanging. Hanging that was the death of criminals and peasants.

"Sir I am an office of the British Army and a Gentleman. I demand the right to die like a gentleman." John stood to face the American, truly angry for the first time. How dare they do this disgraceful thing to him.

The young officer looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry Major, too many of our spy's have been hanged for it to be a source of complaint now. I've brought you paper and ink to write whatever letters will give you comfort. If there is anything else in my power that you wish I will see that you have it. A minister perhaps?"

John sagged back onto the stool. The boy was right. Cornwallis had been enraged at the information leaking out of his camp and took to hanging anyone he got his hands on. "How many will read my letters, and how will they get to my family."

"I will, of course, read them but no one else I swear, and as long as you don't try to pass along any information I will personally see to it your letters are delivered to British headquarters you have my word as an officer." The Colonel laid his burdens down on the table and turned to leave.

"I'm sorry sir, may I know your name? I would like to let my family know I was met with some kindness and compassion at this time."

The young man turned and gave a slight bow to the seated man. "Alexander Hamilton, sir. I will go make arrangements for a meal and that minister if you wish it?"

With a nod from John, Col Hamilton left to give him what comfort he could.

What do you write to your parents at a time like this? Do you tell your father he was right, your thirst for glory and advancement was the end of you. Do you tell your mother she was right, that his weakness for pretty foolish girls would lead him astray? Or do you tell them none of that and just tell them you love them and that you're sorry are you? With a sigh, he started writing. The facts, carefully expunged of anything the Americans might not know, an apology; a quick assurance that he loved them and a plea for their forgiveness and prayers. He would assure them he had confessed and gone to his grave with a clean soul and conscious. What else was there to say really? No need to drag it out.

Col Hamilton arrived with a well-prepared meal and bottle of wine after the minister had come and gone. John noticed there was more than enough for two so he asked his host if you will to stay and join him.

"Please sir, stay there is enough and I truly do not want to be alone with my thoughts and regrets this night. Talk to me about your home, you are the one from the Indies are you not? I've never been there." John would talk and listen and while away his last night with pleasant company and walk to his death like a man.

It was all he had left.


End file.
